Zen at the beach

The point of zen is to be empty of yourself, to become one with God and live in the here and now. The Japanese believe that Haiku poetry is a metaphor for zen because rather than using too many words or logic to try to describe or explain or analyze the moment, you use only 17 syllables (the length of a human breath) to capture that moment. I've never really written any haiku and as I understand it, in Japan, no one is considered to be capable of mastering the genre until they are at least 65 years old. Be that as it may, I finally tried to slow down a little and think less and experience more. The following poems, three of which are in haiku format are the results.




Layers of clouds
clouds are floating by
layers moving past each other
the sun watches them pass




Rays on my face
I feel the suns's warmth
it gently caresses my face
as does the cool breeze



Day at the lake
boys splash in the lake
while girls build castles of sand
and I read my book




Four strata scenery
blue and white sky

green woods and meadows

silver lake
   reflects the colors of the sky
   but also the constant, yet mild churning

the damp, cool sand
   underlines the scene

and a pure white crane loops
    an ellipse around it all
    and returns to a bank
    hidden behind reeds


Now, I hate to distract from all this serenity, but life happens. Maybe I'm too much of a curmudgeon, maybe my cynical sense of humor is always going to get the better of me, or maybe I'm just resentful of having to play host for a weekend-long sleep over while my wife and mother-in-law took off to some big bus tour of fancy gardens in Des Moines- whatever the reason, tight shoes or a small heart, this last poem is pretty typical of anytime I try to get in touch with God, with nature, my feelings, or my feminine side.


Rolling along the surface
My daughter is screaming
"I want to go home!"
"I NEVER want to come to the beach again-
EVER!"

Her big yellow beach ball
has been gliding quietly
across the bay
like a silent ghost across a foggy moor
or like a elegant skater across the ice
across the bay
and under a peer
just like when she lost hold of her balloon
at the fair
and it was claimed
by the sky

The ball is now in Heaven
escaped from the restraints of this world
and from it's indenture to my daughter
but she is in a self-sentenced Hell
and I still have to
take these four girls to the fair
again tonight
just me and them.

Note to self,
nobody gets any balloons
cotton candy or ice cream?
fine
but no balloons.